The House
by Amalynn John
Summary: Maybe he was insane, had finally snapped and taken a ride into crazy town, but he didn't care, he never felt more alive in his entire life. Some would say buying this house was a living nightmare but to him...it had been a godsend.
**I'm not really sure if people enjoy my Daryl/Carol fics but I do enjoy writing them! This story was a long time in the making. I'm a bit nervous posting it because it is outside my comfort zone.**

 **I realized halfway through writing it that it had similarities to the movie Just Like Heaven. No copyright infringement was intended. I own nothing from that movie or from The Walking Dead. Daryl, Carol, and Sophia do not belong to me unfortunately.**

 **Thanks to my friend Jen for looking over this for me.**

 **I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

His heart raged in his chest, an intense pounding that had him nearly convinced that the vital organ was going to burst right out of his body. Sweat dampened his hairline, yet his hands were ice cold. There was a heaviness that weighed him down, restricting his movement, making each step forward nearly impossible. The darkness enveloped him, the beam illuminating from his flashlight flickered uncontrollably; He couldn't see a fucking thing. A haunting melody floated around him, broken, and drawn out, the music cracking as if played on an old record player.

 _You are my sunshine - My only sunshine._

They were here.

He should be afraid. A normal person would have been terrified. He wasn't normal though, his old man made sure he told him that every chance he got. _'Yer mentally unstable_ _boy, a_ _freakshow, belong_ _in one of those fuckin' nuthouses.'_

Maybe he was insane, had finally snapped and taken a ride into crazy town, but he didn't fucking care, he never felt more alive in his entire life. Some would say buying this house was a living nightmare but to him...it had been a fucking godsend.

* * *

 _(6 months earlier)_

The realtor eyed him from head to toe and his fist clenched at the distaste that flickered across her expression, her nose turning up in judgment, with her perfectly painted face and her shiny hair, and her too tight outfit. Snobby bitch. He fought the urge to flip her off and tell her exactly how he felt about her uppity, shitty attitude, but he needed this house, so he reeled in his temper. This was the first house he had come across that he could afford and that didn't look like it was going to crumble to pieces from one tiny gust of wind.

He pushed a hand through his ratty hair and attempted to smooth the wrinkles out of his shirt. He had worn the best fucking one he owned. He needed to score this house, had to get out of the hellhole where he was living, so he had dressed to impress. He was such a fucking idiot. This woman would never sell to him, he was surprised she hadn't made up some lousy excuse to escape the minute he arrived in his piece of shit pickup. Still, there had to be a reason this shack was on the market for nearly two years. He buried his agitation even further and followed her into the house.

She went through various logistics regarding the place, her hurried tone and the fact that she was basically racing through the house told him that she did not consider him a potential buyer and was just trying to get through all the shit she needed to say as quickly as she could.

He didn't fucking care. He could judge the value of this house all on his own, he knew he couldn't believe a damn word out of her mouth anyhow.

The house needed work, a hell of a lot of work. Floorboards were ripped up, moldings were loose, and the fucking roof was leaking in too many places to count. This place was a dump, but it was a fucking palace compared to where he lived now.

"I'll take it." He mumbled, cutting her off mid-speech.

She stopped and swiveled around, nearly knocking him over, her eyes looked like they were going to bug right out of her head.

"Excuse me?" She squeaked. Her long eyelashes seemed to blink in slow motion.

"Are y'deaf? I said, I'll. Fuckin'. Take. It."

And just like that a flip had been switched.

A smile spread across her face and her green eyes lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. He had never seen teeth so white. She reached out to touch him and he pulled his arm away before she had a chance to make contact. What the hell was she on? Grabbing at him like a lion trying to get its prey. This broad was fucking crazy.

She looked startled, her smile dimming for a second and then it was back, bigger and brighter and he cringed at how out of place it seemed from her earlier demeanor.

"This house has been on the market for a while, just waiting for a handsome guy like you to scoop it up," she chirped, her voice loud and bubbly.

Smiling was not something he enjoyed do to, especially for people who thought they were better than him, but he forced his lips to move slightly upward. Just a few more fucking minutes of playing nice with this woman and the house would be his.

* * *

He threw the bag over his shoulder to help ease some of the discomfort. The damn bag had some weight to it, full of baseboards and other shit he had ripped apart. He had spent the entire day working on fixing up the dump he now called home.

The Georgia sun was just starting to set, giving little relief from the heat of the day. The new place was like a fucking furnace. He was sweaty and dirty, but he was satisfied with the work he had put in today. Best of all, he was finally fucking free. Away from his asshole brother, away from the drugs, and from the violence.

He tossed the trash down at the curb and wiped at the sweat on his brow with the back of his hand.

"Good day! You must be the new neighbour."

 _Shit._

He turned slowly, cupping his hand over his eyes to block the now eye-level sun. A balding man wearing one of those fucking Hawaiian shirts was making his way towards him. He nodded his head slightly in response but didn't speak. Friendly enough that the man would call the fire department if his new shack ever burnt down but distant enough that the man didn't mistake any _friendliness_ on his part as an invitation for a conversation. He hated talking to other people.

"Didn't think anybody was ever going to buy the place." The neighbour moved closer and he inwardly groaned. _Fuck._ He had himself a talker.

The neighbour stuck out his hand, "Name's Dale."

He glanced briefly at the hand but didn't offer to take it, "Daryl," he muttered.

Dale seemed unpulsed by his refusal to shake hands and continued to babble on about all different types of shit. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he slowed down and took a breath, "This house has been on the market ever since the murders."

 _What the fuck_?

"What the hell y'talkin' 'bout?"

"You don't know?" The man's voice lowered, his eyes widening, excited to be the one who got to share the gossip. "Family that lived here before, the Peletier's I think were their names, kept to themselves mostly. Word is the husband snapped and offed the wife and kid before turning the gun on himself. House is said to be haunted, the wife seeking revenge, terrifying anyone who tries to live there."

He snorted, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, "Ain't afraid of no fuckin' ghosts."

"Well - no one has lived here for more than a month. Must be _something_ screwy going on."

"Right," he drawled, looking towards his house inwardly thinking that the family probably didn't want to live there because of fucking chatty neighbours. He had stood here long enough being tortured by this conversation, his skin crawled with the need to escape. His mind flitted through various excuses.

"Well, gotta take a piss," he finally mumbled, nodding toward his place.

"Oh yeah, yeah, it was nice meeting you. I'll see you around."

He grunted in response, making his getaway. That sure as hell wouldn't be happening. Ghosts? This Dale was fucking looney tunes.

* * *

 _(Present Day)_

A light shone beneath a doorway down the hall and his stomach flipped with anticipation. So much time had passed since he saw them last. He wanted to see them; he _needed_ to see them, to see her.

His flashlight flickered and finally went out, cloaking the house in darkness once more. He shook the light in frustration, fucking cheap piece of shit. He muttered a string of curses and threw the offending object to the ground, pausing only long enough to allow his eyes to adjust to the dark. Moving swiftly, he stumbled forward, his gaze zeroed in on the light that shone under the door.

His hand closed over the knob and he hissed , yanking his arm away, startled. Pain seared through his fingers and his hand screamed in agony. The knob felt like it was on fucking fire, but giving up was not an option. He threw his body into the hard, wooden door, once, and then twice, grunting with exertion. Finally, on the third attempt, the door burst open and he fell into the room. His eyes darted back and forth, scanning every corner, every crevice, but only emptiness stared back at him. What the hell? She should be here. The desire to call out ran rampant, but the words were stuck, trapped in his throat as he opened his mouth. A hoarse grunt was all he could manage.

That damn music box sat on the bedside table, the pink ballerina turning around and around, taunting him with that fucking song.

 _You make me happy, when skies are grey._

Panic began to set in. Where were they? Had he missed them? Time was running out.

* * *

 _(5 months earlier)_

Painting was a monotonous chore, but one that he quite enjoyed. Watching the room slowly change colour and look fresher always made him feel good in an odd way. He finished the last section of trim and pulled back to study his work. Not fucking bad.

The sweet aroma of baking cookies filled the room causing his mouth to water and his stomach to growl. Damn he was hungry. One of the neighbours must have been baking again. Ever since he bought the place someone close by seemed to be always cooking something that smelled fucking amazing. He sighed wistfully, it would be a damn PB & J sandwich for him...again.

His stomach yelled once more, fuck, those cookies smelled good, like they were baking in his own goddamn oven. What he wouldn't give for one taste. He'd never had a homemade cookie before, only the prepackaged, cheap ass, shit that tasted like fucking cardboard.

He started down the ladder, watching his step when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, the sight almost causing him to fall off the last rung. _What_ _the_ _hell?_ Was that a kid?

A fucking kid had just went running through his fucking hallway.

"Hey! What the hell y'think yer doin'?"

He took off running out into the hall, through the dining room, and into the kitchen where he had seen the little prick disappear.

When he reached the kitchen, he stood there breathless and tense. It was empty, the only sign of life was the backdoor swinging back and forth, the kid was nowhere in sight. Did the kid still think this house was empty and no one lived here? He certainly didn't have anything worth stealing.

"Fuckin' kids," he grumbled, slamming the door tight and locking it before getting to work on his sandwich, doing his best to ignore the still lingering smell of chocolate dough.

* * *

Bad mood did not even begin to describe the state he was in. The day had been pure hell. It had started off on the wrong foot when his piece of shit truck decided that morning it wasn't going to start and he had been a half hour late for work. His asshole boss had laid into him in front of the other assholes he worked with. T-Dog, his one decent workmate who he usually partnered with, hadn't fucking shown up and he had been stuck working with Axel, an annoying little shit who never shut-up.

He threw his lunch pail on the chair and brought his hands up to rub at his temples. The throbbing in his head had escalated throughout the entire day and he was sure his damn head was going to explode. He just wanted to shower and go right to bed, he was ready for this fucking day to be over. There was no way in hell he was working on the house tonight. Fuck that. He was nearly killing himself working construction during the day and then working on the damn house for hours after he got home. There was a lot more that needed fixing then he had originally assumed. He was beginning to regret buying this fucking money pit.

The stairs creaked with each step he took which further aggravated his head. He reached the landing and had to stop to regain his equilibrium, the long hall ahead of him seemed to stretch on for miles. He leaned his head against the wall, he was fairly certain he was going to hurl at any second.

A childish giggle faintly surrounded him and he pulled back from the wall in a daze. Great, now he was fucking hearing things. He heard the giggle again, louder and this time he could hear the quiet chimes of music. What the hell?

He stepped forward, the air around him began to feel heavy, almost electric. Every one of his nerves screamed that someone else was in his house. He stood in front of the entry where the sound emerged, his heart beating wildly in his chest. The door was slightly ajar, a light flickered, like a candle had been lit. Who the fuck was in his house? He looked at his empty hands and realized he needed a weapon, something to defend himself. His toolbox sat beside his ladder behind him. Quickly, he grabbed a hammer and situated himself back in front of the door, the tool raised, ready to defend in case of a surprise attack.

He carefully peered through the crack in the door and his eyes widened. It was that damn kid again. It was a girl, blonde shoulder length hair; she was wearing a blue shirt and it had a rainbow or some shit on it. She was twirling. Dancing to the music that seemed to be coming from a box that sat on the table beside the bed. He watched her in disbelief. Was the kid crazy? What unnerved him even more though was how she shimmered, she was practically glowing. Maybe he was the crazy one.

"Watch me Mama," the girl giggled, spinning faster and faster.

He heard another laugh, light and airy and it made the hair rise on his arm. There was someone else here.

The girl kept twirling and twirling and twirling, her laughter growing louder and louder with each passing second. His head spun, dizzy, watching her and his ears buzzed, the pounding of his heart and the girl's giggles battling for his attention.

Spinning and spinning and spinning, around the table, across the room and through the bed. _Through_ _the bed?_

"Fuck!" He hissed, stumbling backwards, the thud of the hammer hitting the ground echoed through the hallway. He fell into the ladder behind him in his rush to be away from the door, causing him to trip, his head making a painful connection to the corner of his toolbox. The last thing he heard before blacking out was, "Mama, I think he's hurt."

* * *

He paced in front of the store for the fifth time, his head down, his hood pulled tightly around him, hiding his face from the world. What the hell was he even doing here? Everything was fucked up. _He_ was fucked up.

He had woke up that morning, sprawled out in the hallway, his head still pounding, only this time it was from whacking his head off of his damn tool box. He had nearly convinced himself the entire evening, _that_ _kid_ , had just been the workings of his fucked up brain. It had been a hallucination, or a nightmare...but that didn't explain the blanket that covered him or the glass of water and aspirin that sat on his workbench.

Those discoveries had him on his feet and out of the house. He ended up first at a library in town, a place that he had not once frequented in his entire life. ' _That's where people go who are_ _goin'_ _places in their_ _life,'_ his old man used to tell him, _'You ain't goin' amount to_ _nothin'_ _boy.'_

He had felt like a fish out of water, navigating between the rows and rows of shelved books until some nerdy looking teenager, Patrick, had shown him where the news archives were.

He had sat stunned, staring at the paper, trying to wrap his mind around what he was seeing. One summer night, two years ago, two people _had_ been murdered in his house. A woman and a kid, _that_ _kid_ , the kid that he had seen dancing and laughing. He must have heard about it, saw the story on the damn news or something and now his subconscious was playing a big fucked up game with him. Ghosts did not exist and only real fucking headcases thought so.

Yet, here he was - pacing out in front of this fucking store. A place that was more unnatural to him than the fucking library had been.

He growled and cursed under his breath before kicking the chained down trash-can with the bottom of his foot in frustration.

Having made his decision, he stormed over to the front door and entered before he could talk himself out of it. The bell jingled on his way in, startling him and waking up the black cat that slept on the counter. The smell of various spices assaulted his nostrils, making him turn up his nose in disgust. Moons and stars and other shit hung from the ceiling. He walked slowly past shelves that held cauldrons and creepy looking skulls and a shit ton of candles. The entire place made his skin crawl with unease, he and Merle had always made fun of all this voodoo shit. What the fuck was he even doing here? His mind flashed to the girl twirling through the bed in his upstairs bedroom and the newspaper article about her death and he pushed forward.

Signs hung from the ceiling in each small aisle. He made his way towards the one that read 'Spirits, Ghosts, Other Dimensions.'

His eyes darted around and he chewed the pad of his thumb anxiously. No one else was in the store and no employees were in sight either. His step faltered and he looked back at the counter, unless the fucking cat was... he shivered at the thought. _No_. He couldn't start thinking even crazier shit.

He scanned the items on the shelf, clueless. He had no idea what the fuck any of this shit was. He picked up a box which read Air Ion Counter, it looked like a fucking radio. 435 dollars! What the fuck? Who had that kind of money to buy shit like this?

"Wanting to speak to a loved one or get rid of an unwanted presence?"

"Fuck!" He jumped and knocked into the shelf, causing everything to rock violently and on instinct he moved to stop anything from falling.

"You're a nervous one aren't you?" The light, musical, feminine voice sounded again. He looked up and immediately regretted it. The woman was staring at him intensely, like she was studying him, reading his every thought. It was freaking him the hell out and he desperately wanted to escape. She wore a long flowing green skirt, with a white baggy shirt and a blue scarf wrapped around her long curly blonde hair. She looked like a fucking gypsy or something.

"Whatcha expect when y'creep up on someone?" he mumbled, putting the box back on the shelf.

"My apologies. I sensed you needed my help."

He snorted in disbelief and resisted the urge to roll his eyes, his entire body tense.

She smiled. "I feel your hostility."

"Is that right," he muttered under his breath, goosebumps breaking out on his skin, his pulse picking up pace.

"You saw something." She looked at him, eyeing him like she knew all of his shit. "You came here to explain it away," she continued, "but you're terrified that it is indeed real." Her tone grew deeper and her eyes grew wider, "I can ensure you, It. Is. Real."

She stepped forward and he fell back into the shelf like she had burned him. His heart hammered out of control, the room grew hot and his vision blurred slightly. He had to fucking get out of this hell hole. He stumbled forward, pushing past her and not stopping until he was out the door, finally free.

He had gone completely insane.

* * *

 _(Present Day)_

He moved to the music box and slammed the lid closed, he was not in the mood to be teased by that song. He picked the box up, holding it in his hands, examining the yellow painted wood as if it held all the answers. Like it would tell him where to find them or how to reach them.

His stomach rolled, his entire gut felt like it was twisting in pure agony. As hard as he had tried, he just couldn't understand the silence she had insisted upon, he couldn't understand why she had made the choice she made. She had taken it upon herself to make the decision that was his to make without even bothering to listen to what he wanted. The longer she remained hidden away, the more pissed off he was becoming.

Thunder boomed overhead, the earth echoing his anger, a rare unseasonable storm. His indignation continued to grow, rising up his chest, consuming him. He let out a long growl, grabbing the lamp and hurling it across the room, blanketing the room in darkness. The shattering glass did nothing to ease his frustration.

"Come on!" His voice boomed into the eerie silence. "This ain't right and y'know it."

Nothing. The only sounds were from the heavy raindrops hitting the roof. He swallowed and blinked his eyes, fighting back the tears that threatened, he would not fucking cry.

"Please," his voice cracked.

And then the smell surrounded him. Sweet with the hint of cherries. Cherry blossoms. _Her_ _smell_.

His heart leapt and his stomach fluttered in anticipation. He took a shaky step forward, desperate.

"Carol - _please_."

* * *

 _(4 months earlier)_

"Fuck!"

He dropped the pan into the sink, the smell of burnt toast filled the air. He quickly put his hand under cold water to relieve the pain of the burn. He couldn't even handle a fucking grilled cheese sandwich.

He had been a damn jittery freak ever since that night, ever since seeing that kid go through the fucking bed. He had stayed in that cheap ass motel for two weeks until he had convinced himself that he was being an idiot, that his mind had conjured up that kid to fuck with him after the day from hell that he had had on that fateful day.

He wasn't convinced though. There were too many other variables, too many other things that he couldn't quite pass as mere coincidences and so he had crept around his house, obsessively looking around every corner. He hadn't been sleeping well at night which was only making him fucking crazier. He hadn't seen the kid since that night, but deep down - deep down he could sense that he wasn't alone in this house.

He shut the tap off and carefully wrapped the dish-towel around his fingers that were still bright red. That pan had gotten him good.

"Mama thinks you should put some aloe vera lotion on your burn."

His entire body reacted to the surprise upon hearing another person's voice. He jumped, his head smacking into the edge of the cupboard door.

"Dammit!" He cried out in pain, absently rubbing at the spot he had just hit, flinching when he brushed over where it was most tender.

He heard a quiet giggle, "You sure do bump your head a lot when we're around."

His heart rate escalated and he started to breathe so heavily he was sure the entire neighbourhood would be able to hear him. Slowly, he turned around.

The kid smiled and wiggled her fingers in a small wave, her green eyes sparkling, a hint of mischief hidden in their depths. "Hi!"

He could do nothing but stare, his brain working overtime trying to make sense of what was in front of him. Was she real? An apparition? A fucking hallucination? She looked real enough, didn't look like no damn ghost. Weren't ghosts suppose to be scary and see through or some shit? This kid was neither of those things. She just looked like a fucking kid. A kid who was said to be dead in several newspaper articles, killed by her no good, son-of-a bitch, father.

"Man, you were gone for so long, I was worried you were gone for good. You don't have to be scared, we're not bad. We live here too... we're kind of stuck. " Her face scrunched up like she was thinking about something for a moment and then she was looking at him again, her face somehow brighter than before. "My name's Sophia."

She paused for a minute, watching him, before sighing dramatically, "You sure don't talk much."

"Mama said you were quiet but that you had honour and that honour was important. My daddy didn't have honour and he sure wasn't quiet, especially when he was mad." Her statement made his stomach clench. Both confused by the praise and livid over the words about her father. His _daddy_ had been no man of honour either.

She twirled a strand of her blonde, wavy hair with her finger as she continued to talk, "Nobody's been over here since you moved in. You don't have any friends...or family?"

"You ever stop talkin'?"

The words were out of his mouth before he even realized. This kid was hitting too many damn nerves. She didn't seem offended or surprised by what he said, only delighted that he had finally talked. Her smile grew wider and her skin seemed to glow. He was officially a nutcase, talking to the damn ghost now.

"Mama always says I could talk the hind legs off a donkey - which doesn't even make sense to me - but she says it's something her nana used to say."

"Sophia."

His head snapped to the new voice and he was sure that his heart must have stopped for at least one second. It was the kid's mother. The faint scent of cherry blossoms was the first thing to assault his senses and it immediately served to drain some of the tension that had built. Cherry blossoms were one of his favourite smells. When he had been younger and things were hell at home, his old man on one of his rampages, he would often take refuge under a big cherry blossom tree that he had found in the woods. He remembered thinking that it was the most beautiful tree he had ever seen. He couldn't remember how many times he had fallen asleep out under that old tree. It had been magical when it was in bloom.

He continued to stare at the woman, the pictures from the articles had not done her justice. She was beautiful and not the world's standard view of beauty but a beauty that was uniquely her own. Their gazes locked and the world seemed to stand still as he began to drown in the prettiest eyes he'd ever seen. He swore they were the exact colour of the ocean. They held a kindness in them that had never been bestowed on him before and he found it extremely overwhelming. He quickly averted his eyes and stared at the floor.

"This is my mama, Carol." Sophia moved beside her and took her hand. "Mama says you're just like us, right Mama?" She looked up at the woman, her long lashes blinking innocently.

His heart twisted painfully, confused. Too much shit was happening and emotions were surfacing that he couldn't explain. He could feel the walls erecting around his heart, defensive, always defensive, that's all he'd ever known how to be, that's how he survived.

He glared not at the girl who had spoken but at the woman - Carol. "I ain't no fuckin' ghost."

Her face fell and her frown seemed out of place on her beautiful face. She shook her head, but before she could speak the kid's giggles distracted them both.

"No, silly! She giggled once again before turning serious, "She said you were hurt by someone who was suppose to love you too."

The hair on his arm stood on end, what the actual hell?

His gaze pulled back to the woman's, accusingly, "You spyin' on me?"

Her face grew crimson and she looked guilty. His heart was beating out of control and he was finding it hard to breathe. He had officially lost it. Talking to fucking ghosts. He needed to get the hell out of there, away from them, away from her and those damn eyes that seemed like they could read his every thought and could see into his soul.

She stepped forward, "Daryl."

He tore his gaze away from hers and fled the room.

* * *

 _(Present Day)_

"Carol." His voice cracked with emotion. He was barely hanging onto his sanity. The need to see her had weighed so heavily on him this past month. He buried his head in his hands and growled in frustration.

"Daryl." Her voice wrapped around him like a cocoon, warming him from his head all the way to the tips of his toes. It lit a fire in his heart, bringing him back to life. Just like it always had, ever since that first time his name had passed through her lips on that day in the kitchen when he had first saw her.

He slowly lifted his head, his gaze meeting shimmering blue, so kind, so loving.

He let out a shaky exhale, a sound leaving his mouth that at one time in his life, not long ago, he would have been embarrassed by. It had been so long since he had seen her, it seemed like a lifetime. She was even more breathtaking if that was possible.

His fingers tingled, the ache to reach out and touch her was all consuming but he knew that was impossible, always impossible.

"Daryl," she repeated, her voice stern but he didn't miss the slight quiver in her voice.

"I missed you," he blurted, the emotion he had heard in her voice had pushed him over the edge, had pushed him to say what he wouldn't normally out loud.

A myriad of emotions passed over her face, she blinked rapidly, her eyes glistening.

"We talked about this."

"No!" Irritation bubbled within him, "You talked. I got no say."

She stepped forward earnestly, "I'm not letting you throw your life away."

"We don't know what'll happen."

"Exactly!" she cried, throwing her hands up in frustration. "Daryl, it's too much of a risk."

He took a minute to observe her, her passion, her beauty, her loving nature and he knew that wasn't true. He would do anything,

"It's a risk I'm willin' to take."

* * *

 _(3 months earlier)_

Sweat dripped down his forehead and pooled in his eyes and he used the back of his hand to wipe it away. He twisted the wrench a few more times tightening the bolt, grunting with satisfaction that the leak had been fixed. He rested his head back on the floor and stretched out his legs. His thoughts drifted to his two house-guests. He had seen them many times, in various places, since that day he had made a hasty exit. Sophia would occasionally wave, a bubbly _'Hi Daryl'_ springing from her mouth. Carol barely paid him attention, but when their eyes did catch, his stomach would flutter like a pack of damn butterflies had been released and he would have to break his gaze away from the intensity. He was still fucking confused. They seemed real. The emotions they evoked, that _she_ evoked were real. But were _they_ real? He pretty much had reached a point of acceptance that they were now a part of his life, whether they were the workings of his fucked up brain or not.

"You're sure good at fixing things." The sound of Sophia's voice startled him and he quickly sat up just missing hitting his head off of the bottom of the sink.

"Shit!" You gotta stop sneakin' up on me."

"Sorry," she mumbled, her expression one of guilt making him feel bad that he had been quick to scold.

"S'alright," he grumbled, chewing on his thumb. He glanced over at her, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her green eyes staring at him with child-like wonder and he realized he had missed the kid. He really was fucked up.

"You ain't been 'round much."

"Mama said we should give you some space."

He grunted, briefly wondering just where her mama was at that moment. Was she here as well, watching them? The thought both thrilled and unsettled him.

"I missed talking to you. Did you miss me?"

"Lot quieter without'cha 'round."

Her smile widened, her freckles stretching across her face. "That wasn't a no."

Damn kid was perceptive.

She bounced up unto her feet, walking over to the walls he had painted a couple days back and examined them.

"I love the colour you painted in here, it reminds me of mama's eyes.

His heart picked up speed as he stared at the back of her head. Too fucking perceptive.

* * *

He took a long pull from his beer, the bitter liquid clenching his thirst and easing some of the tension after a long day at work. He stared at the small television set blankly, not registering what he was even watching, some survivalist shit or something. He reached into the open bag that sat on his lap and pulled out a handful of chips. He hadn't bought groceries that week and had quickly stopped at the local variety on the way home. Dinner of champions.

"You should eat better."

He turned to look at the freckled faced girl beside him. Her random pop-ups no longer startled him, she usually showed up at some point once he got home.

She sighed, staring at the chip bag with longing, "I miss chips."

"Y'don't eat?"

"We can't," she shrugged her shoulders, "and we don't have to." She turned her attention back to him, a wistful expression on her face, "Sometimes I just sit and think about Mama's chocolate chip cookies and how they used to melt in my mouth. If I think about them hard enough - I can smell them."

He thought back over the last couple months and the mouth-watering smell of freshly baking cookies that had wafted through the house. Damn...he had smelt it too.

They sat in silence for a while, staring at the television.

"What are we watching?" Sophia finally asked.

He shrugged his shoulders again, pushing his hair out of his face. "Don't know. Some shit."

Sophia hummed, still staring at the TV, her finger slowly twirling around a strand of her hair. He watched her for a few moments, she seemed so real, he had so many questions, but there was one in particular that rose above the rest, one that he still couldn't wrap his brain around.

"How you sittin'? I saw y'walk through a damn bed."

She turned to him, "I'm not sitting," her face scrunched in thought, "We just kind of- hover."

"No shit," he mumbled, fascinated.

"You swear a lot."

 _Shit._ He had never had experience being around kids. Swearing was probably not something you did in front of them he supposed.

"M'sorry."

"I don't mind. It's kind of funny."

He snorted and couldn't help the grin that formed. He always had thought kids were annoying but this one wasn't so bad.

"So if y'can't even sit, how'd y'give me water an' cover me with a blanket?"

Sophia curled her nose in confusion.

"That night I first seen ya -" he averted his eyes, embarrassed, "knocked myself out."

"Oh!" Sophia exclaimed and he was surprised when she didn't laugh like he assumed she would. "That was Mama. We can move things with our minds."

His eyes widened, "Y'serious?"

She shook her head, "Yeah, it kind of hurts though, but Mama was worried about you."

He cleared his throat and his breathing became a bit more erratic. He swallowed heavily, "Where is your Mama? She ain't been 'round much lately."

"She's here. She thinks talking to you is a bad idea."

He sniffed, the side of his face scrunching as he fought against a wave of unexpected emotion. Did she not like him?

"Why's that?" he asked, gnawing nervously on his bottom lip.

"I think she likes you."

He coughed in surprise and he was sure that his eyes must had been bugging out of his head. He watched as an invisible force seemed to grab Sophia and pull her off the couch.

"Mama!" She exclaimed, stumbling across the room being dragged away from what he could only assume was Carol. Before she disappeared, she waved and shouted a giggly, "See ya later Daryl!"

He sat there speechless, his mind focused on only one thing, _I think she likes you._

He abruptly stood and with a racing heart and a nerve he didn't realize he possessed he spoke into the empty room, "Maybe your Mama should try talkin' to me herself once'n'awhile."

* * *

The smell of bacon wafted through the air, it crackled and sizzled in its pan. He flipped his omelet onto a plate and turned off both of the burners on the stove. He didn't know how to cook very many things, but he did know how to prepare a good breakfast. His mother had taught him. Every Saturday she had cooked breakfast, a breakfast that as a kid, he thought it had been a meal fit for a king. Weekends were his favourite time, not because there was no school but because his old man was never usually around, always out drinking with his buddies trying to forget that he had a family and responsibilities. After his mother had gone, he did his best to keep the tradition alive, even if it meant stealing a couple eggs from the McAlisters farm down the road. It was one of the very few memories in his life that was worth a damn.

"Smells good."

He jumped and nearly dropped his plate, straightening it just before his entire meal slipped off. His heart rate skyrocketed. _It_ _was_ _her_ _._

Slowly he turned to face her and when his eyes finally landed on her he nearly stopped breathing. She was beautiful, in her white sundress, the freckles that matched her daughter's painted across her face, and those damn eyes that made his stomach flutter. There was more to it though, something that he couldn't understand let alone describe, he had seen beautiful women before but none of them had been able to turn him into a fucking mess like Carol could in even just their few brief encounters.

"It looks like you make a mean omelet."

His mouth felt like cotton, he opened it and attempted to say something, but he couldn't form any fucking words. She probably thought he was the biggest fucking moron, standing there with his mouth hanging open like a goddamn fish. She made him nervous and they had never even had an actual conversation before. He had always wanted to and now that he had been given the chance, he was making a complete ass of himself. He didn't know how to talk to women, let alone a woman who was a ghost or whatever the hell she was.

She smiled, her blue eyes sparkling. They were the type of eyes he could easily get lost in. It was all too much and he had to look away. The plate in his hand shook and he put it down. He needed to get himself under control.

He heard her take a deep breath, "I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

His head snapped back to look at her, surprised. "'Bout what?" His voice cracked, nerves still holding him hostage.

She shook her head, her eyes lifting heavenward, "So many things," she sighed. "Sophia's endless chatter. I think she was tired of only having me to talk to. She thinks you're interesting."

He snorted, "Ain't nothin' interestin' 'bout me."

"You sell yourself short Mr. Dixon."

Heat rose up his neck and he couldn't tear his eyes away from hers.

"Daryl," he managed to croak out.

"Daryl," she repeated tenderly, so goddamn tender.

Hearing his name fall from her lips was his undoing and he had to look away once more. Goddamn he was such a pussy.

Silence filled the room and a new tension seemed to settle upon them, he couldn't stop his damn fingers from fidgeting.

"You should eat," she finally said, "Your breakfast will be getting cold."

He nodded his head and grabbed his plate and he couldn't shake the disappointment of their conversation being over, of her leaving. He silently cursed himself, he fucking blew it.

To his surprise she didn't go, and just continued to stand by the counter. He kept sneaking glances at her through his hair while he ate. She seemed nervous, her fingers played with the ribbon on her dress and she actively appeared to be avoiding looking at him.

She cleared her throat and finally returned her gaze to him, "I'm mostly sorry that you have to deal with this," she said quietly.

He paused mid-chew, his eyes squinting in confusion.

"You know," she moved her hand back and forth between herself and the empty room, "us - Sophia and I. You didn't sign up for that - to live in a house that -" her words trailed off and her nose scrunched, likely unsure of how to label herself and her daughter.

Her uncertainty actually gave him some relief, made him feel less like an idiot. Even she was unsure of what the hell was happening here.

"Ain't so bad," he mumbled. He realized that as fucked up as this should be, his words were the truth. Having them there really wasn't all that terrible or horrifying. If he was completely honest with himself it was less lonely. Sophia's constant chattering and her bubbly personality usually succeeded in cheering him up, he couldn't help but like her. Carol was different. She made him nervous but for reasons he couldn't even wrap his head around.

"Thank you," she whispered, looking like she was truly touched.

He once again felt hot all over, his eyes darting to the floor before he forced them back to meet her gaze. "For what?" He asked, he was legitimately unsure. What had he done aside from daily making a huge jackass of himself?

"For being sweet to Sophia. For not burning down this house once you realized we were here. God - for everything. You're fixing this place up, making it look like a real home. I love this house." She was breathless when she finished, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She was quiet for a moment, looking away from him. "Ed never did that," she muttered, mostly to herself.

He was taken aback by the mention of the man he had only knew based on what he read in the articles from the library.

His blood boiled, "Pretty sure Ed was an asshole."

Carol's head snapped to look at him, her eyes wide and he worried that he had overstepped his boundaries. The man was the bastard that had killed her, had killed her kid, but he still had been her husband. He loathed Merle but he would kick the ass of anyone that spoke shit about him. The thing was though, Ed and Merle were not on the same level of fucked up. Ed had Merle beat by a landslide. This was some real messed up shit.

He prepared himself for her indignation but instead she snorted, the hint of a smile gracing her face, "Ed was _definitely_ an asshole."

They stared at one another, something unfamiliar flickered in Carol's gaze and it had his heart racing out of control. She turned away first, "Well I should let you go." She looked up almost shyly, peering at him from under her eyelashes, "Enjoy your day at work - perhaps I will see you later?"

He blinked and blinked again, openly gaping at her, unable to speak once more. Fuck, what was wrong with him? He needed to answer, needed to say _something_.

He coughed and managed to mumble a, "Yeah, sure."

She smiled softly before disappearing and suddenly the work day ahead seemed impossibly long.

* * *

 _(Present Day)_

A frustrated cry passed through Carol's lips, "You are so damn stubborn."

"I'm stubborn?" He scoffed in disbelief. "You're the one makin' all the damn decisions and not lettin' me have a say in the matter."

"If something happened to you - I just...I wouldn't be able to live with myself." She took a deep breath and shook her head. "I can't - I won't allow you to do something stupid, something that we have no idea whether it will work or not. " Her words fell out of her mouth frantically, her eyes wide as she paced across the room. "It's crazy!"

"I can't live without you."

Carol froze, her back to him. The silence was deafening aside from the pounding of his heart. What he had said was the truth. He didn't want to be in a world where Carol and Sophia didn't exist somehow in his life. There was so much left for him to say, so much more time that he wanted to spend with them both.

At one time it had frightened him when he realized how much Carol and Sophia had become entrenched in his heart, but now facing a reality without them, he needed to make Carol see, needed to show her exactly what a life without them meant for him.

He bent over and picked up Sophia's music box that had somehow ended up by his feet. Slowly he opened it and the familiar, haunting melody filled the room once more.

 _You'll never know dear how much I love you, so please don't take my sunshine away._

* * *

 _(2 months earlier)_

The doorbell rang for the third time and he cursed under his breath.

"Daryl!" The pizza's here!" Sophia yelled from the other room.

"I know," he shouted back, slightly irritated. He ripped the cushion off the sofa, growling in frustration. Where the fuck was his wallet?

He'd been in a shitty mood all day. His boss had been a major dick that morning, giving him and T double the workload. Some asshole had left a huge dent on the passenger side of his truck, and to top it all off, the roof was fucking leaking again.

"Your wallet is in the kitchen, on the counter by the microwave." Her voice was gentle, but it did little to calm his temper as he stormed past her. Of course she followed him.

"Now, don't take out your bad mood on poor Glenn. You know how skittish he is about this place."

"I ain't in a bad mood," he grumbled, grabbing his wallet and pulling out a twenty.

Her eyebrow shot up and her face wore an ' _oh please'_ expression.

He snorted, the tension that had built up during the day slowly ebbing away.

The doorbell rang again and he rolled his eyes at the kid's impatience. "Damn kid thinks the place is haunted."

"Well, he isn't entirely...wrong."

His hand went to the doorknob, ready to open the door when her voice sounded again, "You know, we _could_ have some fun with that."

He paused and turned to look at her, this time his eyebrows were the ones that were raised. He was surprised by what he saw. Her face was flushed with a giddy kind of excitement and her eyes twinkled with mischief. It was a side of her he had never experienced before. It was intriguing and he couldn't help but grin.

"You want to mess with _poor Glenn?"_ He threw her words back at her in amusement at this turn of events.

She deflated a little, "Well, If you don't want to-"

"Fuck yeah I do."

Her smile spread and his pulse kicked up a notch.

He cleared his throat, "What do I gotta do?"

"Nothing," she said, "Just stand there and act non-pulsed by whatever happens." She moved in closer to him, her mouth close to his ear, making his heart leap in ways that were unfamiliar. "That shouldn't be too hard for you," she purred, teasing him. He did his best to ignore the shiver that ran up his spine from her sultry tone. He sent her the best glare he could conjure and opened the door, the sound of her laughter echoing around him.

Glenn jumped, "Oh, hey man," his eyes shifted nervously past him into the house, "was starting to think no one was home."

He grunted, "Who'd have ordered the pizza then – a damn ghost?"

Glenn laughed and it came off sounding a little crazy, high-pitched and jittery. The kid handed him the pizza, "Ah – 14.95."

He reached out to hand him the twenty just as the lights flickered in the foyer. Glenn froze mid-reach, his eyes growing wide.

"I – I think your light is about to burn out."

He had to fight the grin that threatened as he looked over his shoulder and witnessed the show Carol was putting on with the lights.

"What are y'talkin' about?" He asked, turning back to the kid.

Glenn pointed to inside the house, "The light is clearly flickering. You don't see that?"

Acting his part, he turned around once more and shook his head, "No it ain't, is there something wrong with your eyes?"

When he faced Glenn again, the kid's face was ash-white, he looked like he was the one who was the fucking ghost. He was slowly backing up, his mouth hanging open unable to utter a sound.

He turned to look in the house just in time to see his damn hat floating across the room. O _h boy_. He watched Glenn stumble down the steps backwards almost falling over. The kid was so pale.

"Y'alright kid?"

Glenn managed to tear his eyes away from the hat and focused on him as he answered. "Yeah – Yeah...I got to – got to go – other deliveries."

With his words stuttered out, Glenn turned and booked it to his bike parked at the end of the driveway. Kid couldn't get out of there fast enough. He had never seen someone bike so fast and as he watched the kid retreat down the street, he finally gave into the laughter. The terrible day he had been experiencing seemed like a distant memory.

Carol appeared beside him, her hand covering her mouth, attempting to hide her own giggles. "That was so mean," she muttered.

"That kid ain't ever goin' deliver pizza here again."

Her smile faltered and it was like all the light had been sucked out of the room.

"Oh God...you're right," she breathed, her tone horrified. She looked completely devastated and it didn't sit well with him.

"I didn't want him to stop delivering pizza's here, he's such a good kid. He would always bring a special treat for Sophia and would sneak it to me when I paid for Ed's pizzas." She threw her head into her hands in despair, "What have I done!"

Her change in mood had given him whiplash and it surprised him how much he wanted the happy, giggly Carol back and the lengths he felt like he would take to make it happen.

He shifted uncomfortably, "I'll call later – make it right. He'll be back."

Carol gave him a small, relieved smile which made him feel like he had won the damn lottery or something. Then her eyes squeezed shut and her hand shot up to hold her head. She let out a soft groan of pain as she stumbled forward.

He rushed forward, concerned, "You OK?"

"Yeah," she mumbled softly, "Moving stuff requires focus. It always comes with a bit of pain." She did her best to give him a reassuring smile.

"OK," he said, "Y'had your fun. That's enough messin' around, movin' shit with your mind. Not worth it." He hated the very thought of her being in pain. There wasn't many people he gave a shit about but for some reason the two...occupants of this house had quickly rose up to the top of his list.

"I'm dead Daryl, pretty sure I'll be alright."

"That don't fuckin' matter," his voice rose and he had to take a deep breath to calm himself, "I don't want you to – hurt," he finished, lamely. He was such an idiot.

She stared at him, her eyes shimmering with disbelief, and he shifted nervously under her gaze.

"You're a sweet man Daryl Dixon."

He blinked and blinked again, unsure if he heard her correctly. _Sweet?_ _Him?_ He'd never been called sweet a day in his life. He felt flushed, and was sure his face match the rag in his pocket that he always carried with him while at work. He knew though that ever since Carol and Sophia had entered his life he felt like a different man. He no longer felt like he had to hide or pretend to be someone he wasn't, he was finally allowed to be himself. It was the first time in his life that he felt like someone worthwhile.

* * *

"You need to add in two and a half cups of flour."

He looked over the various ingredients that were cluttered on top of the counter. Spotting what he needed, he grabbed it.

"Two and a half cups?"

That seemed like a hell of a lot of something to add that tasted like shit on its own.

"Yeah, it's like the meat of the cookie," Carol explained, moving her hands passionately. "Flour gives the cookie texture and I don't know, I think it - I think it makes the cookie... _the cookie_." She laughed lightly, shrugging her shoulders, her cheeks a rosy pink. Damn she was pretty.

He swallowed heavily, burying his thoughts and turned back to the task at hand.

Both Carol and Sophia had been shocked to discover that he had never had a homemade cookie before and somehow the kid had talked him into baking a batch with her mama as his guide.

He fumbled with the mixer, still not used to the tool. Had gone out and spent a lot of money on a thing he would likely never use again and for cookies he was probably going to fuck up, but Sophia's pleading stare and Carol's soft smile seemed to push him to do many things over this past month that were out of his ordinary. He had scented candles in every room of the house, he was eating vegetables, and he watched fucking Grey's Anatomy every Thursday. Damn show was addictive. If he was being honest with himself though, it was those blue eyes that had the hold on him, had him doing all these insane things.

His gaze fell on those very eyes, the eyes that now haunted his damn dreams.

She raised a questioning brow, "You OK?"

He coughed and blinked, giving his head a shake, "Yeah, yeah...I'm good."

"Good, cause you got cookies to finish Dixon," Sophia said, eyeing the mixture.

"Sophia!" Carol scolded.

"Sorry," she sighed, facing him, a twinkle in her green eyes, "Mr. Dixon," she sang teasingly.

He snorted and stuck his tongue out at her, which she returned, giggling.

He switched the power button of the mixer on and flour flew everywhere, he coughed, surprised as the white powdery substance blew right in his face. _Fuck._

Sophia's giggles surrounded him. He slowly turned to look at her and her giggles turned to full on laughter. Swiping his hand over his face, he glanced over at Carol. She was biting her lower lip, attempting, horribly, not to laugh herself.

He turned back to Sophia, his eyes squinting in a glare, "Y' think that's funny?"

Sophia chortled, "You look like an angry mime!"

The burst of laughter that sprang from Carol filled the room, surprising him and awakening something in his heart that he couldn't quite pinpoint.

His gaze snapped to hers and he had to fight back a grin of his own as she tried to hide her laughter behind her hand.

"I get the kid bein' a smartass, s'pected more from you."

Removing her hand from her face, she was suddenly the picture of absolute composure but her eyes held a dangerous glint that had his heart racing. Her mouth quirked, "I thought mimes were suppose to be silent."

Before he fully registered what he was doing, he leapt forward, his arm reaching out, making a grab for her.

A small squeal erupted from Carol and she turned, running around the small island in the kitchen with him right on her tail.

Sophia clapped her hands, laughing, delighted by their antics.

They slowly circled around the island, him on one side, Carol on the other. Her grin mirrored his own, their chests heaving with exertion and excitement. In that moment he finally realized what that foreign feeling was that had been roused from its slumber. It was pure, unadulterated, joy. It felt almost like it didn't belong. He hadn't experienced anything close to it ever since the day his mama had walked out that front door, never to return.

The delight that sparkled in Carol's eyes was proof that she felt it as well.

They circled the island, around and around, each step calculating and cautious but so invigorating. Finally he made the move, darting quickly around the corner of the counter, forcing Carol to run across the room, a small shriek of surprise and amusement falling from her lips. They ran through the hallway and into the living room, around the sofa until Carol found herself in a corner, trapped. A wide grin of triumphant spread across his face and his arm swept out, reaching for her waist.

Carol gasped, a grimace crossing her face as his entire arm went through her stomach. A chill unlike anything he had ever felt before coursed through his entire body, making his hair stand on end.

They stood staring at each other, shocked. He had forgotten. Forgotten that Carol and Sophia were dead. Forgotten that they were entities that surpassed logical thinking. Forgotten that he would never be able to touch her. The despair that flickered across her face told him that she had forgotten too.

 _Fuck._ Had he hurt her?

"Y'alright?" He asked.

She nodded, and he jumped, startled, when she cleared her throat. "Sophia will tell you how to put the cookies on the baking sheet. Just put them in the oven at 350 degrees for 10 minutes - and they should come out perfectly." Her gaze fluttered around the room as she spoke, desperately avoiding looking directly at him.

Before he had a chance to say anything, she was gone.

* * *

"Have you always been interested in bikes?"

He finished tightening the bolt and looked up from his spot on the floor. She hovered over the bench that sat in the garage, her long legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles, watching him as he worked. His heart fluttered. The awkwardness from a few days back had been long forgotten much to his relief.

"Ever since I was a kid." He cleared his throat, his thoughts drifting to the past. "There was this ole man that lived down the street from us, had this ole '39 Crocker. Best damn bike I ever saw. Gave me twenty-five cents to wash it for 'im. Went over and watched 'im work on it whenever things at home were shit. When he died, bikes came a bit of an obsession. It was always my escape."

"Cooking was my escape," Carol shared. "When Ed was particularly cruel, I'd be up all night baking. Once made a batch of brownies with a dislocated shoulder."

His grip tightened around his wrench and he fought against his temper. The urge to hurl his tool across the room at the injustice of this world was strong. That someone as kind and as loving as Carol would be treated so inhumanly by the worst trash this world had to offer was a fucking joke.

Instead he stood and walked to the bench, sitting beside her, the need to be near her suddenly suffocating him.

She gave him a soft smile, "One time, after a broken nose, I was halfway through a souffle and I made the decision to leave, get the hell out. I had a bag packed and had hidden it in the attic."

"Why didn't ya?"

"Found out I was going to have Soph. I knew he would never let me take away his child. Not that he gave a shit about her, he only cared about how it looked from the outside world. I also thought that maybe he'd change...once she was born. "

She threw her face into her hands, "Oh God, why didn't I leave? I was supposed to protect her. "

"What happened, that ain't on you. Ed was a fucking bastard and he is rotting in hell."

"At first I was worried that he was here as well after - you know. That Sophia and I would be stuck with him, even in death or whatever the hell this is. Sometimes I had wished he hadn't been a coward, that he was still alive. I would have _haunted_ that son of a bitch.

"If he was still alive I would have killed him," he growled

Neither one of them acknowledged the fact that had Ed not died, he would have never been aware of who Carol or Sophia were.

"Y'remember that night?" He asked.

"Not all of it. Everything's a blur. Thank God Sophia doesn't remember a thing."

He longed to comfort her.

"I'm glad you're here," she whispered.

"I'm glad I'm here too."

His hand laid next to hers on the bench, side by side, so close and he swore he could feel the heat radiating from her, an electric current passing between them. His pinkie twitched, an ache bloomed in his heart that he had never experienced, all he wanted to do was hold her hand.

* * *

The rope chafed against his hand, burning his palm while he made sure the tree was securely held down in the back of his truck. A light, cold mist had started to fall, not quite snow yet but not quite rain either. The winter temps that year had ranged from unseasonably warm to fucking freezing. His old southern bones couldn't handle the cold very well.

He shoved his hands into his vest pockets and his eyes darted around, anxious. He hadn't been back here in months and he just wanted to get the hell out of there. Time had not made him grow fonder. It hadn't changed one damn bit, in fact it seemed to be in even worse shape. Apartment buildings were run down, the cheap brick rotting away, stores were boarded up, bankrupt, and prostitutes littered the street, desperate to make a quick buck to survive through the next week. The apartment he had shared with Merle was just down the street, he could hear the raunchy music from the strip club that sat next to it. The very strip club that Merle likely frequented at that very moment, drunk, and on the prowl for the next woman he would fuck.

He had only come back here because Sophia had wanted a tree and this was the only lot open this late on Christmas Eve.

A car siren pierced through the night, startling him. Yeah, he definitely had to get the fuck out of there.

He slammed his tailgate closed and rounded the back of his truck.

"Well, hooooly shit, look what the fuckin' cat dragged in, if it ain't the little runaway dipshit."

Face to face with his nightmare, it felt like the entire world had come to a halt.

The man in front of him arms spread wide open, "Where's my hug baby brother?" He slurred.

He didn't move; stuck, memories of the past assaulting him, memories he had done his best to escape from these last few months, all of them stood at that moment staring him right in the face. Merle looked like shit. His eyes red and glassy, he was drunk and higher than a kite. His lip was swollen and bloody, his cheek covered in various hues of purple and blue. He could guarantee the fight he had been in was over the broad that hung off of him now. Bleach blonde hair and boobs that spilled out of her tight dress.

"Oh, he's cute," the woman purred. She moved closer and the smell of her cheap perfume made his stomach roll, "let's bring him back with us – there's a lot I want to do with him." She reached out to touch him and he recoiled.

Merle's laughter was boisterous, "My little brother's 'fraid of women, 'fraid to get his little dick wet. Used t'think maybe he was one of those ho-mo-sex-chew-als," he drawled, "but I told him I'd beat that shit right outta him."

Anger bubbled inside of him and he fought the urge to add to the damage on Merle's face.

Merle stumbled forward, suddenly outraged, "You got nothin' to say, little brother," he yelled, jabbing his finger into his shoulder, "Cat got yer goddamn tongue?"

"Fuck off Merle," he growled, his voice low, he was doing everything in his power to control his own temper.

"What going on baby brother? Y'think you've come up in the world?" He pushed him up against the back of the truck and nodded towards the tree in the back. "We used to make fun of the assholes that would buy this shit? What'd you do, get yerself a sugar mama? Get yerself a little _family?_ _"_ Merle shook his head and laughed, "Y'always were the biggest pussy."

He finally reached his breaking point and shoved Merle away from him, stalking after him, "You're a simple-minded piece of shit," he growled. "You're so fuckin' 'fraid to live – hidin behind drinkin' and drugs n' women – not feelin' a goddamn thing." His heart raced but for the first time in his life he felt like he was in control, not Merle. He pushed him forward again and knocked him to the ground, "I'm free from all this shit and I ain't got one regret. I got a house, a good job, friends and I got a - " The word family hung in the silence, unsaid.

"Y'got a what little brother," Merle snarled.

He took a deep breath, realizing what he had almost said and recognizing how desperately he wanted it to be the truth. Regardless, he had achieved so much without Merle around bringing him down in the end it didn't matter if Carol and Sophia would be considered a family. "I have an actual fuckin' life now that's good."

He reached into his wallet and pulled out one of the business cards he had been forced to make for work and threw it on the ground in front of his brother. "If you ever want outta this hellhole- want to change and life your live...give me a call."

He regarded his brother once more laying on the ground, looking like a wounded puppy. "Merry Christmas Asshole," he mumbled before turning back to his truck. He got in and started it as quickly as he was able and drove away without looking back. He just wanted to be home.

A few hours had past since that disastrous run in with his brother. He sat on the sofa nursing his beer, watching as Sophia twirled around the now decorated tree singing some goofy song about missing teeth. The lyrics made no damn sense and it was horribly off key, but it was the best sound he'd heard in his entire life.

"It's her favourite Christmas song," Carol said, beside him on the couch, a soft smile gracing her face as she watched Sophia too. It was a smile he knew he would face his brother a million times over just so he could see it light up her face.

"She was always afraid to sing it when Ed was around," she continued. "Every year I did my best to give her the greatest Christmas I could, but we were never allowed to have a tree. Ed hated the smell." She turned to look at him. "Thank you. Sorry you were left with all the work."

He shrugged his shoulders, "It ain't nothing. I didn't mind – it was...fun." It really had been. He hadn't had a chance to think about Merle once he had dragged the tree inside. Sophia had squealed and immediately started giving him instructions on where to put the thing and how it should be decorated. They had listened to music and Sophia and Carol had belted out every single Christmas Carol they knew. It was unlike anything he had experienced before. "I ain't ever had a tree either."

"Is everything OK?" Carol's voice was quiet, concerned, and his heart ached a little.

He thought about not saying anything, he didn't want to ruin this night with talk of his asshole brother but the way her eyes shimmered with kindness and how she looked like she longed to know his every worry had him talking, "Ran into my brother tonight - gettin' the tree."

"Merle? The one you were trying to get away from by moving here?"

He nodded his head, "Still an asshole."

"But he's still your brother," she said gently, as if she understood completely where his head was at.

"He wasn't always this way. Raised me after my Ma left. We – we were close. Guess I always hoped that-….I don't know, it's stupid."

"It's not stupid," she said, inching closer to him on the sofa. "There is nothing wrong with having hope. You never know what tomorrow might bring. There were so many times that I wanted to give up – first with Ed – and then with this -," she waved her hand in the air indicating her current state of living. "But I didn't, I kept hoping something good would happen," she smiled and her eyes softened causing his heart to skip a beat, "and it did."

Throughout his life he had learned, often the hard way, that you never should reveal your thoughts or what you were feeling. His old man made sure to tell him that they, that _he_ , were unimportant – not worth anybody's time; emotions were for the weak. Sitting there with Carol he knew that rationale wasn't the truth, it was complete bullshit. Emotions did matter, _he_ mattered.

With all the courage he could muster, he finally voiced what had been on his heart for the last month, "You and Sophia have changed my life."

"And you have changed ours," she whispered, her voice wavering.

He thought back to his confrontation with Merle and his hesitation to say he had a family. The truth was, he _did_ have a family. Carol and Sophia were his family, even if they weren't quite like what other people had.

They suited him just fine.

* * *

He stood in front of the door, frozen, unsure of himself, of the sentiment behind the gift he held in his hand. It had been a a spur of the moment purchase. He had just been paid, had gone into town for a few groceries and had been pulled to the little shop that sat next to the small market. He hadn't even known the fucking shop existed, never had a reason to be aware, until now.

His hand tightened around the roses, second guessing himself once again. He was embarrassing himself getting her flowers, she was going to think he was foolish. He should just put the damn things in his truck, give them to T-Dog tomorrow, so he could give them to that chick he was seeing. Halfway to the truck he realized that T-Dog would question why he had bought the damn flowers in the first place. How would he answer that? Tell him he had a crush on a damn ghost? Fuck that!

He growled in frustration and turned back towards the house, stomping dramatically up the front walk. He had bought the damn things for Carol, he was going to stop being a fucking dipshit and give them to her. He burst through the door and the window rattled from the force of it slamming closed behind him.

"Whoa!" Sophia exclaimed, appearing out of the blue. "Bad day?"

Carol materialized beside her, her face a picture of concern.

A sheen of sweat dampened his brow and his stomach coiled with anxiety.

This had not gone down at all how he had envisioned. He closed his eyes, frustrated, _god_ _damn_ , he always managed to fuck up everything.

"Everything OK?" Carol's voice interrupted his bout of self-loathing.

He stared at her, words trapped in his throat. He was not good at this shit, never had been. Expressing himself was still something he struggled to do. Carol was messing with his damn head, had been since the moment he first laid eyes on her.

"Daryl?" She broke through once again. Her gaze was locked in on the roses, wide-eyed, her mouth gaping, the surprise evident in her features.

A gasp sounded from Sophia, "Did you buy these flowers for Mama?" She stepped forward in wonder, "They're so pretty," she breathed.

His face burned, flaming even hotter when Carol finally tore her gaze away from the flowers to look at him. Her expressive eyes, bright, confusion flickering in their depths, her own cheeks flushed.

His heart beat wildly and he awkwardly thrusted the flowers towards her, "Jus' thought y'might like -" He closed his eyes and brushed his hand over his face, mortified. "Was stupid," he muttered

The flowers hung between them and realization dawned, Carol wouldn't be able to take the damn flowers even if she wanted to. He quickly pulled them back. He was such a fucking idiot.

"They're beautiful," Carol whispered, the emotion that crackled in her voice screamed for his attention.

His breath caught, the smile that had spread across her face was stunning and her eyes glistened.

"They're Cherokee Roses," he mumbled shyly, "From that documentary we watched."

When he had seen the roses in the small floral shop, he knew that they were the flowers he had to get Carol. A few evenings ago they had watch a documentary about how thousands of Cherokees were forced out of Georgia and the path they travelled had been dubbed the Trail of Tears. The Cherokee Chiefs had prayed for a sign to help give the women hope and it was said that wherever the women's tears had fallen, a rose had bloomed. The story had had a huge impact on Carol.

He had insisted the florist make him up a small bouquet from the plant, the rest of the small bush sat in his truck. He hoped to plant it in the back garden.

"I love them," she breathed.

The tension uncoiled in his stomach, relief pouring in. Maybe he didn't fuck up.

He remembered the single pink daisy that sat in the middle of the bouquet. He reached in and carefully pulled it out.

"Got this one for you," he quietly drawled, peeking at Sophia from under the hair that hung in his face.

"For me?" She stepped forward, her green eyes impossibly large, full of awe, her hand trembled slightly as it circled the flower, unable to touch it.

"My daddy never bought me anything - ever," she quietly said, peering up at Daryl, her long eyelashes blinking slowly, tears sat unmoving in the corners of her eyes.

His heart clenched, "You n' your Mama deserve everything good."

Carol's sharp intake of breath pulled his attention back to her. Their gazes locked in an intense stare that had his breath coming more quickly and his pulse thrumming.

"We should put them in water - that's what you're suppose to do with flowers," Sophia's excited voice broke their connection.

He found two beer bottles to put the flowers in and for the rest of the evening Sophia stared at her flower, while he and Carol seemed to be unable to look at anything but each other. It was that night that he knew, without a doubt, he was deeply, madly, passionately in love with Carol Peletier. He was so fucked.

* * *

 _(Present Day)_

Time stretched past and Carol seemed lost in the music box, staring at it in his hands. He jumped when she finally spoke. "Sophia's gone. Has been for about two weeks."

Bile rose in his throat. _No_ _.._ _.Not yet_.

"I can feel myself slipping away as well," she said, her gaze returning to his.

It was too late. She would never agree to his plan without Sophia, with her daughter was where she belonged and he was just holding her back. The pain that flooded his heart was unlike anything he had ever experienced and he couldn't let her leave without knowing.

"I love you."

Carol was openly crying, and it looked like a mist or smoke was filling in around her. "I love you too."

An orange hue enclosed around them both and then the world went black.

* * *

 _(1 month earlier)_

He found her standing in the kitchen, staring out the window but looking at absolutely nothing, deep in thought. His heart clenched at the sadness etched across her features.

"Everything OK?" He asked quietly, not wanting to startle her.

"No."

She turned to him, sighing, defeated. "I don't know."

He wanted to comfort her, to say the exact words she needed to hear, but he didn't know what to say. He never knew the right thing to say, words were not something he excelled at.

He bit his lip nervously, "I'm here. Talk t'me."

Her eyes blinked rapidly, engaged in a battle to fight away the tears that threatened to fall.

"It all feels so real," she whispered.

"What does?"

"Being here - _you_ -"

"It _is_ real," he insisted, but in reality he still wasn't sure himself. He wanted it to be real, wanted it so fucking badly that it physically ached sometimes.

"It isn't," she hissed, pained.

Her words sliced through him like a knife and he couldn't help but recoil back from her, hurt. Even if she and Sophia weren't physically there, that didn't mean that the last five months hadn't happened. Those months had been more real to him than anything else he had ever experienced in his entire life. He didn't understand where this sudden doubt was coming from. Carol had seemed to take their entire situation in stride, aside from a couple times where they both momentarily forgot that physical touch was not a possibility, times where they had had a fleeting glimpse of a connection so strong It had rocked him to his very core. Had something changed? Had he done something wrong?

"What happened?" He attempted to hide the desperate edge in his tone, failing completely.

"Sophia's ill."

"What? How?" That didn't make sense. He had figured they weren't able to get sick.

She shook her head. "She says she feels light, like she's drifting away. Yesterday she saw-" a soft sob fell from her lips, "a light."

"A light? Like in the damn movies?" Was all that shit actually real?

"I don't know." The quiet desperation in her tone tore at his heart.

"It's fine. I'm sure it'll pass," he tried to reassure her.

"I can't lose her."

"You won't."

She attempted to smile doing her best to show her gratitude for his words but her bottom lip began to quiver and she quickly turned away.

"Hey," he softly called to her, gaining her attention once again, "I'll go back to that store - you know - see if what's happenin' to Soph is normal."

Carol snickered, using the back of her hand to wipe away the lone tear on her cheek before raising an eyebrow, "You're going to go back to the - _useless shithole."_

Even though her tone was lightly teasing, he remained serious. He _was_ serious.

"I'd do anything for you and Sophia."

Fresh tears filled her eyes. "I don't know what I would do without you," she whispered.

"You ain't never gonna have to find out. Everything's gonna be just fine."

* * *

There was no hesitation this time. He stormed through the door, the bell signaling his entry swung wildly causing the cat to screech and run to cower under the desk in the corner.

He rushed passed all the voodoo shit to the back room cursing as he got tangled in the beads that hung from the doorway.

"Does anyone even work in this damn place?" He bellowed, frustrated and annoyed. Where the hell was everybody?

"I knew you would be back."

He growled low in his throat at the familiar voice and turned to face the same freaky gypsy lady he had dealt with the last time he had been in this hell hole. He fought the urge to tell her off, tell her where she could shove her whimsical fucking mind reading shit. Instead, he took a deep breath and attempted to calm his temper, his unease. He was here for Carol - for Sophia - he could suffer through anything - _anybody_ \- for the two of them.

This shit that was happening with Soph had him worried. Her weird spells were becoming more and more frequent. He wouldn't be able to stand it if she was ill or something.

"Let's jus' cut the shit," he said to the woman, "I got questions."

"I'm here to help."

He relaxed slightly at the sincerity in her tone.

"My name's Andrea, why don't you tell me what's going on."

He took another deep breath and then he talked...and talked. Everything poured out of him, he was unable to stop no matter how hard he tried to tell himself to shut the fuck up. He was oversharing and he just couldn't stop himself. It was like a valve had been turned and everything just came spewing out. He had never talked this much in his entire life and it was horrifying but it was also a huge relief to finally be able to tell someone about Carol and Sophia.

He was breathing heavily when he finished, bracing himself for the mocking that he was sure to follow after baring his soul, after telling this complete stranger his entire existence for the past 6 months, all of it ...aside from the falling in love shit. To his surprise though, she didn't laugh, she looked contemplative and slightly troubled making him feel ill with anxiety.

"Is somethin' wrong with the kid?" The fear that consumed him at that very thought nearly knocked him over.

"Often spirits have a reason for living amongst us. Perhaps there was something left unfinished in their lives or maybe they're seeking revenge or retribution of some sort, righting a wrong," she told him.

"That ain't answerin' what I asked."

She took a moment, a look on her face that made him dread her next words. "It sounds as if the child has finished what she needed to finish and it's time for her to-"

"Time f'her to what?!"

"Cross to the other side."

His eyes narrowed in confusion, "What in the hell does that even mean? She won't be visible no more? She'll just be gone?"

The woman looked at him sympathetically and the urge to shake her gripped him. He wanted her to say something that made sense, wanted her to say things that he wanted to hear. None of this shit about Sophia disappearing - being gone forever. His heart pounded wildly and he felt out of control, his mind spinning and panic setting in. He couldn't lose Sophia and if Sophia wasn't around, how much longer before Carol was gone too? The thought of life without both of them was unthinkable. This couldn't be happening.

"How do y'make it stop?"

"You can't." The woman stepped forward, her arm reaching out to offer him some kind of comfort and he pulled away angrily.

"Hey," she said softly, attempting to get his attention, "It's a good thing - she'll no longer be stuck in limbo. That type of life would be hard on anyone, especially a child."

He shook his head, not wanting to listen to her reasoning. He refused to believe this was the end. He was desperate.

"Can someone - who's alive - ever be with them? Is that possible?"

She exhaled softly, "There are pockets of time where physical manifestation could be possible," she paused, and he knew the answer was not one he wanted to hear, "but short of that person's death - and even that is not a guarantee - No, it's not possible.

* * *

He had walked away from that meeting disheartened, had stupidly thought he would find the answers that Carol needed to hear, that _he_ had needed to hear.

When he had gotten home he had told Carol all that woman had told him. She now sat quiet, staring off into space and it had his damn nerves on edge.

"Carol?"

"It makes sense," her voice was low, emotionless.

"Carol," he barked louder, trying to break her out of the haze she was under.

Her gaze snapped to his, tears swimming in the corners of her eyes, "She finally has a father who loves her."

He felt his throat constrict, his emotions in overdrive. What was she talking about? A father? Him? She thought of _him_ as a father to Sophia? That made no sense, he didn't have any idea how to be a dad. He sure as hell didn't have a stellar example of one.

Before he could think about it any longer, Carol was surging forward. He followed her on instinct.

"This should stop."

He froze, "What?"

She turned to face him again, the anguish on her face, paralyzing him.

"This," she waved her hand between them, "Should. Stop."

"No."

"It isn't fair to you."

"No," he growled.

"I'll just fade into the background and you go – you live your life."

He stared at her in disbelief, his temper flaring. "What, and I got no say?"

"You're better off."

"That's bullshit and you know it." He felt like he was trapped in a tiny space, all of the air being sucked out and he was suffocating slowly. "You and Sophia are the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Daryl – please!" Her voice trembled. "Don't make this any harder."

She turned away from him and it was as if he could physically feel her pulling away and terror gripped him.

"I know away we could all be together."

She stopped, cautiously turning around, "What?" She breathed.

"That woman – at the voodoo place – she said there was a way."

"How?"

He swallowed heavily, his pulse going haywire. "If I were to die -"

A strangled cry sounded from her lips, "Have you lost your mind?!"

"She said-"

She shook her head angrily, "Clearly she was insane."

He watched her, debating his next words, trying to figure out how to convince her this could be their only way, he took a tentative step towards her, "How do y'explain you and Sophia. Could work for me too."

"And if it doesn't? And we still can't be together? It ends in you...DEAD!"

"I'm willing to take that risk." And he really was.

"Well, I'm not." Tears filled her eyes and she shook her head, "I can't do this." She looked at him, like she was memorizing every detail of his face and then finally she spoke softly, "Good-bye Daryl."

He rushed forward, "No! Wait!," but his words had no impact. In a blink of an eye, she was gone.

* * *

 _(Present Day)_

His eyes fluttered open, the steady beeping of machines buzzed in the background.

"Well, hi there."

A woman stood over him, dark skin, brown eyes, slim face. His mind swirled and images blurred as he tried to recall where the hell he was and what the hell had happened.

It came to him in brief, rapid flashes. Smoke. Fire. _Carol_. He gasped her name and frantically pulled at the wires attached to him, desperate to get back to his house, back to _their_ _house,_ back to her and Sophia.

" , you need to stay calm, you're going to hurt yourself."

The nurse was doing her best to keep him in bed, but he roughly shouldered her away. She continued to try and fight against his struggling before pushing the buzzer on the side of his bed. Two orderlies came into the room followed by a damn cop.

The orderlies held him down as the nurse administered something to him. Whatever the fuck it was, it had an immediate effect, his arms and legs were suddenly impossible to move. The cop stood over him, looking slightly concerned. He waited until the two orderlies left and addressed the nurse, "Excuse me ma'am, I'm Officer Grimes, is it alright if I talk to the patient?"

She nodded her head, "You can talk to him, but it won't be too long now and he's gonna be out like a light." She straightened the blankets around him, and leaned in slightly, "You get some rest sweetheart, I'll be in to see you later." She placed a clipboard at the end of his bed and left the room.

The cop sauntered over and had it been physically possible for him at the moment, he would have flinched. He hated cops...but maybe this one could give him answers, help quicken the process of getting him the hell out of here. Plus, he didn't really seem like the other asshole cops he had met before in the past, standing there in his dorky, wide brimmed hat.

"Got to-," saliva rolled down his chin and his words sounded slurred, it was like he was a fucking mental patient. He tried again, "Got to get – out. My house-"

The officer frowned, "I'm sorry to have to tell you this Mr. Dixon, but there was a fire. Your house is gone. Your neighbour called it in and the firefighters got you out just in time."

An agony filled screamed filled his head but nothing came out of his mouth, he was unable to utter any sound as the sedation he had been given finally knocked him out.

* * *

He had slept for a little over a day and had awoken depressed, numb. He laid in the bed staring at the ceiling, willing himself not to think about Carol or Sophia. They had been tethered to that house and now it was gone, _they_ _were gone_.

Finally the need to piss became too much and it forced him to get up. He finished his business and was shuffling back to bed when the desire to go home, to check and see if what the cop had told him was the truth, had him dressing and walking out of his room. If there was even a hint of a chance that Carol and Sophia were still there, he had to go.

He avoided the nurses' station, turning down a hallway adjacent to it instead. He moved swiftly, his head down, not daring to look anyone in the eye in case they were to discover that he was an escaping patient.

He turned left and then right, right and then left...over and over. The hospital was a fucking maze and he had no idea where he was. He stopped and closed his eyes attempting to control his frustration.

"Daryl?"

A shiver raced up his spine, his entire body tensing at the sound of the soft, awe-filled voice. It couldn't be.

He turned slowly around and there was Sophia staring back at him, her eyes wide.

"Daryl!" She shouted and immediately took off, running down the hall, a blur instead of a girl.

He stood there paralyzed, unsure if he was dreaming or if this was reality.

She stopped in front of him, out of breath with the biggest teardrops he had ever seen running down her cheeks.

"Is this real?" She whispered.

"I...I don't know," he stuttered.

His words broke the awed daze Sophia had found herself in. She let out a laugh, a huge smile lighting up her face and she lunged forward, her arms wrapping around his waist, her nose burrowing into his shirt. She held unto him so tight and it was the best fucking feeling in the world. If this _was_ just a dream he didn't want to wake up.

Time seemed to stand still as they stood there. He had so many fucking questions. Was this even possible? Sophia had been killed by her father, he had read the damn papers himself, but here she was, holding onto him like a vice, more real than he imagined possible.

"Sophia!"

His gaze flew to the sound of the frantic call. An attractive, dark-skinned woman advanced towards them, her eyes wide with alarm.

He stiffened, watching almost in a trance as the woman pulled Sophia away from him and put the young girl behind her. The alarm that had been in her features now looked fierce and protective.

His ears buzzed loudly and he was unable to hear the harsh words the woman seemed to hurl at him and he couldn't quite make out the argument the kid was having with her. He was too stunned to say anything. He was dizzy with the realization, actual confirmation, that this wasn't just a dream, Sophia _was_ there, she was fucking real.

"Soph – Sophia?" His voice cracked in disbelief.

Both the woman and Sophia stopped their arguing to look at him.

Sophia smiled, her eyes never leaving him as she addressed the woman, "See Aunt 'Chonne. It _is_ him. This is Daryl. I told you it wasn't a dream."

Sophia sprung forward once again, hugging him more intensely than before.

"You're Daryl?"

He nodded his head sharply, not knowing what to say. He still had no fucking clue what was happening.

He followed Sophia down the hallway as she pulled him to what he assumed was her room, still in a haze of uncertainty. Sophia pushed him to sit on the bed and she sat beside him, pressing right against his side, her small hand still entwined with his.

The woman he didn't know sat across from them in a chair, eyeing him warily, nervously twirling one of her dreads around her finger.

She was the first to speak, "This is really hard to wrap my head around. You really do know Sophia – you live in their old house?"

He ignored the questions, turning instead to the girl beside him.

"What the hell is happening?"

Sophia shrugged her shoulders, "I don't know."

"You're a – alive?" He fumbled with the question, knowing the answer he longed for, but still terrified that this could end up being a really fucked up nightmare that would end up crushing his heart.

"Yeah," was all she whispered.

"How? All the articles I read said you were dead."

"I don't believe this,"his head snapped back to look at the other person in the room. He had forgotten she was even there.

"This is Michonne," Sophia told him, "She's my Mama's best friend. Tell him about the articles Aunt 'Chonne."

Michonne looked unsure until Sophia uttered a desperate _'please.'_

"The articles were an elaborate set of lies," she explained. "Ed had gotten himself into some trouble with some very dangerous people. One night he had been drunk and he had his damn gun – He shot Sophia and Carol before killing himself. Carol and Soph's wounds weren't fatal, _thank_ _God_ , but serious enough to put them in a coma. Long story short, the police had been keeping tabs on Ed, hoping to get more intel on the men he was mixed up with and for their safety they made sure people thought Carol and Sophia had been killed as well. I was in such shock I just want along with what they said. I guess the men have been caught now – I don't even know. I could hardly believe it when I was called and told Soph was awake."

He sat there staring at the woman, trying to listen to the entire explanation but he had stopped hearing anything new when she had said that Sophia's _and_ Carol's wounds weren't fatal, that they had _both_ been in comas.

His entire body hummed, hope unlike anything he had ever known made his heart pound like crazy.

"They?" His voice shook. " _They_ were in a coma?"

Sophia gripped his hand tighter and he looked into her bright hope-filled eyes.

"She hasn't woken up yet, but she will now that you are here – I just know it."

* * *

He had to mentally stop himself from running through the hospital to long-term care. His desire to get to Carol was extreme, _She_ _was alive._ A real living, breathing person that could be touched and held. Sophia had to run to keep up to his strides but she seemed perfectly content with that.

They reached her room and his stomach lurched, nerves holding him hostage just outside the door.

What if she didn't wake up? Or what if she did and she didn't remember him and their time together. Or even worse, what if she did remember everything but just didn't want to be with him. Being stuck with only one man was limiting, other options had been non-existent. There were smarter, richer, better looking men out there. All more worthy of a woman like her.

Sophia's hand tugged lightly on his and he lowered his gaze to meet hers. "She loves you," the young girl reassured.

Her words were enough to pull him into the room. No matter what happened, he loved Carol and Sophia both and he was going to be there for them until Carol told him otherwise.

The room felt warm...really warm. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead. The beeping of the machines were almost hypnotizing and he couldn't stop his body from trembling.

He stepped further into the room and his breath hitched. There she was, laying on the bed, looking more beautiful than he remembered. The tears that formed in his eyes were unstoppable.

Sophia was already by her mother's side, her fingers running through the grey strands that curled at Carol's neck.

"Daryl's here Mama. I told you he'd find us."

He bit his lip to keep himself from crying out and slowly approached her bedside. This was still so fucking unbelievable.

His eyes drank her in hungrily; every single breathtaking inch was just as he remembered. The freckles that swept across her face that she hated but that he found so incredibly sexy. The small scar on her chin from when she fell off her bike when she was seven, the only scar she had that was not from Ed.

Carefully, he lifted her hand into his. The immediate spark he felt almost made him drop it. An electric current ran up his arm and into his heart causing it to beat even more rapidly.

"Look!" Sophia exclaimed, crawling up unto the bed to examine her mother closer.

He quietly gasped as Carol's eyes began to flutter. He leaned in as well, silently urging her eyes to open. _Please. Please. Please._

Finally they did and he couldn't help the tear that fell down his cheek. She blinked several times giving her pupils a chance to adjust and focus. As if on instinct her gaze fell on him and a quiet, surprised sound fell from her lips.

"Daryl?"

He opened his mouth to reply but could only utter a soft cry of joy.

She laid there, looking at him as if she were caught in a dream.

"You're here?" Her voice was shaky and cracked from months of disuse.

He nodded, gripping her hand tighter, still in a haze of disbelief.

Her eyes shone with unshed tears and the corner of her mouth moved slightly upward, "What took you so long?"

And with those few words, his life truly began.

* * *

 **If you so feel lead...I would really love to know what you thought. Reviews brighten my day!**

 **Thanks for reading!**


End file.
